


The Terrible Dream Life of Damien Vryce

by Pear



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:50:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pear/pseuds/Pear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damien Vryce adjusts to having his dreams manipulated by the Hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Terrible Dream Life of Damien Vryce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liz_mo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liz_mo/gifts).



The wind howled around him, a rising sound that vibrated in his ears. Dust and grit stung his skin. Damien tried to shield his eyes with one arm as he urged his mount forward. The animal stumbled and foundered beneath him as they reached the trees. He slid off his mount and tried to lead the animal into the shelter of the woods, pushing aside branches and undergrowth to force a path. It was still loud but at least he could breathe and open his eyes. The dust storm and trees blocked the day. Everything was half in shadow, the storm’s eerie twilight. There was no sign of his companions. Even the fae felt fainter than any Damien had ever seen. The place was empty and he was lost. When he turned around, his mount was gone as well. Dread filled him as he searched the darkening forest until he woke with a shout on his lips.

*****

Damien Vryce was beginning to regret his better nature. The knowledge that they needed their unlikely ally to survive and unravel whatever mystery lurked ahead started to pale and grow thin. Each day his sleep filled him with unease at best and horror at most. It hardly felt restful to walk the paths the Hunter laid for him in dreams. His temper frayed, and worsened whenever he caught a glimpse of satisfaction in the Hunter’s eyes. 

“Perhaps you spend too much time in my company, priest. You grow too comfortable with me.” Gerald Tarrant smiled in that slow, cruel way that Damien found especially irritating. 

Vryce was well aware his curiosity was the kind the Church might say leads down a dark road. There was too much he wanted to know about Gerald Tarrant, about the Hunter. It was an itch better left alone but he couldn’t. Not now, not sharing the link of blood and fae that bound his dreams to the Hunter’s mind. He could not undo the choice and the least he could gain was some understanding of it. 

His only comfort was that the process was not perfect. Tarrant didn’t have a window into his soul, as such. More like a crack to whisper through. Some dreams brought terror more effectively than others. Vryce wondered how long he could put up with the man’s arrogant, unending sadism before he snapped.

*****

The black sun rose on the edge of the world. Horror moved through him, and the blind terror that screamed _get away don’t look_ in his head. Fae so dark it outshone the night, shot with ripples of iridescent purple crept towards him. Damien closed his eyes but he could still see it, still feel the terrible pull of the Forest’s dark fae. His Sight wouldn’t fade no matter how he tried. It drew towards him and he felt his sense of still fray in the torrents of fae rippling around him. Vryce tried to scream but he could not move or make a sound. He sat up with a gasp, shocked into wakefulness. He imagined he could hear the Hunter’s laughter. Outside it was only an ordinary sun dipping below the horizon.

*****

“You said the bond would unravel only at death,” he said as they paused during the night’s endless trek. 

“Are you in a hurry to meet it, already?” Expressionless, Tarrant stared towards the horizon. Stars winked in the faint haze overhead. 

“I’m just wondering how you know.”

“The answer should be obvious. I’ve done it before.” 

“Are they dead?”

“Almost all of them.” Tarrant turned away and Damien did not press any further that night.

******

He could see ages of time, a perspective he knew must be Tarrant’s own. Tarrant showed him a world where the Church lead the people to terror and darkness, its light growing twisted and sickly over generations. It was a corrupt and poisoned world and fae fed on the suffering to create further horrors. This he knew had to be a dream and so it did not fill him with terror so much as denial and anger. Damien shook himself awake and prayed until it was time to move again.

*****

“That dream,” Vryce began.

“Not quite right.” Tarrant didn’t even look at him but there was a hint of displeasure in his voice. “I’ll have to try harder.”

“Why? Why did you ever even develop this particular habit?” Damien couldn’t conceal the edge of revulsion in his words. Why would you do this, he thought, how could you ever choose such darkness?

“You always want to know the whys of things. But that isn't going to make your choice more or less moral.” The Hunter turned his gaze on Vryce, his dark eyes unblinking.

“I disagree,” Damien said. _Because this is the only way to get where we need to go and there is no one else to do this._

“Whatever you want to believe,” Tarrant said with some asperity. From the darkness, the wind rose and rippled the long grass with a sound like the sea. The way was long and the road held few comforts for anyone.

*****

He dreamed of the Hunter’s own perspective again but it was worse. He was the Hunter in the dream, following a woman through the trees of the Forest. She sobbed, half gasping as she struggled to find a path. Moonlight made her night dress white as snow. Branches blocked her way, and stones made the ground uncertain beneath her. The worst of it was that Damien knew it was a dream and he couldn't wake. He knew what was coming and he was powerless to stop it or even close his eyes. His hands reached down to the woman who now huddled at the base of a great tree. Her shoulders shook and she pressed her face to the bark. Leaves and twigs snarled her dark hair and dirt streaked her hands and bare feet. The smell of blood rose coppery sweet and thick, choking him. 

*****

“Who else is still alive?” Vryce asked that night as they forded empty stream beds full of broken shells and smooth stones. 

“What are you talking about?” Tarrant sounded irritable at the question.

“You said almost all of them were dead, the others you made this.. connection with.”

“Ah, yes.” Tarrant smiled and it was almost human in the moonlight. “My apprentice, whom you met in the Forest. He yet lives and will for some time yet I hope.”

“No others?”

“None.” The Hunter’s smile grew colder.

Damien clenched his fingers as if the motion would stop the words from leaving his throat. _Damn you_ , he thought. _Those women deserved lives free from your terror._

At dawn, Damien watched the Hunter vanish to darker shelter. He settled down to his own rest, pausing only to murmur a prayer for the protection and guidance of the church. But he was farther from home than ever before, and there was no reassurance behind his eyes.


End file.
